


An Inconvenient Agony

by aryu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, Fingering, M/M, Riding, The Anchor (Dragon Age), The Anchor Fucks Things Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryu/pseuds/aryu
Summary: Lavellan experiences a meltdown in the Anchor at an inopportune moment. Dorian was unaware it had become such an issue.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	An Inconvenient Agony

“Didn’t you say you had mountains of work to finish?”

Sarel’s chuckle was rich, and a smile split over his lips as he swept dark red hair over his shoulder. “Are you certain you want to be protesting right now?” he asked, voice low as he swung a leg over Dorian’s lap to settle himself on his thighs.

The mage hummed, hands closing around his elf’s hips as he gazed up at him. He squeezed hard, and Sarel shut his eyes, hips rolling into him as they breathed together. 

“ _Amatus_ , I would never _dream_ of protesting this. However, I don’t want your advisors to have my head when they discover you’ve fallen behind on your work because I was bedding you.” Dorian’s fingers dipped into the hem of Sarel’s tunic, touch warm on his skin in the cool air of his quarters, and he bent to trail kisses over the _vallaslin_ on Lavellan’s throat. 

The elf’s hum vibrated against his lips, and he ground his hips down against Dorian’s as he braced himself against his shoulders. Conveniently, his _vhenan_ had been lounging in his bed with a book when the elf had determined he was going to perish if he read any more political ramblings, and he hadn’t been able to resist climbing into his lap to seek out his lips. Dorian would never _dream_ of purposely distracting him, though, so it surely must have been comfortable.

“The evil Vint corrupting their Herald. What would the people think of us?” Dorian teased, his laughter rich as Sarel worked on the million buckles on his clothing. He’d long since stripped out of his own armor and changed into more comfortable clothing, but Dorian always insisted on maintaining his appearance. Creators, how it irritated him, especially when he wanted him out of those clothes. 

“I think I’m allowed a little corruption, don’t you?” Lavellan asked him, freeing Dorian of belt after belt as the mage leaned back against his pillows, fingers loosely curled around his waist. “I could be walking through the halls denouncing their Maker and painting myself a savage. This is hardly worse.”

Dorian hummed his agreement, hands falling from Sarel’s waist to help the elf get his tunic over his head. Buckles and buttons jangled as Lavellan dropped his leathers to the floor, and for once, Dorian didn’t scold him for it. Wrinkles could be smoothed later.

The sun was setting outside, and the candle burning on Lavellan’s desk cast a warm glow over Dorian’s chest. His skin shone in the light (Sarel was still convinced he oiled it, though he’d never caught Dorian in the act), and the muscles of his stomach rippled as Dorian sat up further against the headrest. 

“Creators, you’re going to kill me.” Sarel bent to press his lips to Dorian’s clavicle, and he could feel the laughter rumbling in his partner’s chest beneath his kiss. “I don’t know how you expected not to be ravished laid out in my bed like that. You’re too damned distracting to get any work done.”

Dorian was delighted, a smile dancing in his eyes, and his fingers carded through long hair to draw it back from his lover’s face as he laid kisses over his skin. “Perhaps that was the intention. I do know how frustrated you get reading reports.”

And frustrated he was. Lavellan grumbled something Dorian couldn’t understand against his hip, and he tugged roughly at the man’s belt to pry open the laces of his trousers. Perhaps his clothing was a little...inconvenient for intimate moments, but Dorian was loathe to give it up when he knew how he looked in it. 

After another few moments of watching his elf struggle, he took mercy on him, and Lavellan sat back on his knees to tie up his hair as Dorian rid himself of the remainder of his clothing. There was a smile curled on his lips that wouldn’t die out, and he folded his arms behind his head as he lay back against the pillows. 

Green eyes traced over every contour of muscle in Dorian’s frame as he drank in the sight of him. His cock lay half hard against his thigh, and Lavellan’s mouth had begun to water a little at the thought of getting his mouth around it. It hadn’t been more than a few days since they’d had time to be intimate, but it felt like ages. Creators, how did he _ever_ resist when Dorian looked like he did?

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to get to work?” A manicured brow rose, and Lavellan huffed as he bent over his lover’s thighs. They parted for him as Dorian folded his legs, and the elf pressed his nose into the bend of his lover’s knee as he inhaled. 

“Let me enjoy this. Aren’t I supposed to be your boss?” That got a chuckle out of Dorian, but the sound evolved into a low moan as Lavellan pressed a lingering kiss to the base of his cock. Dorian hadn’t bathed since the morning, and the smell of him was strong and heady, mingled with his perfume. The taste of him was even better, and Sarel laved his tongue over the underside of Dorian’s cock as he curled a hand around him. 

The mage’s hips shifted, and his hands buried themselves into the elf’s messy braid to encourage Sarel to get his cock deeper. The Inquisitor wouldn’t be rushed, though, and he moaned low in his chest as he pressed kisses along Dorian’s shaft. 

His cock twitched in Sarel’s palm, and his free hand wandered to the heaviness of Dorian’s balls. He could taste salt at the tip of him when he closed his lips around it, and Sarel groaned as he gazed up at his partner. Dorian was beyond gorgeous, red cheeked and flustered against the Inquisitor’s pillows, and Sarel wanted to drink in the sight of him like this every day of his life. 

His breeches were getting uncomfortably tight, and Lavellan fought every urge in his body to keep himself from laying flat so he could grind against the bedsheets. He wasn’t _that_ desperate, and he could wait to pleasure himself until Dorian was begging for release anyhow. Besides, he had a fresh bottle of oil in his bedside table and he _needed_ to get his lover’s cock in him before the night was over. 

Dorian’s breathing was harsh as Sarel bobbed his head in his lap. His fingers clenched at the back of his head, encouraging him lower until his eyes were burning from the strain in his jaw and at the back of his throat. It was worth it for the way the mage groaned, hips shaking with the effort to keep himself from thrusting, and Lavellan wiped his arm across his lips as he sat back with a smirk. 

“Maker, you’re going to kill me,” Dorian breathed, and the elf’s laugh was delighted as he pumped his fist over his cock. The man’s hips rolled to follow it, slicked with spit and precum, and Sarel’s gaze wandered to watch as he thumbed over the head. 

“Do you think you’ll survive if I ride you?” Sarel asked him, breath cool over the spit slicking Dorian’s erection as he bent to press another line of kisses down his shaft. His hips jerked, and Sarel jumped back, his laugh a little sheepish as he lifted his eyes to Dorian’s ever reddening cheeks. 

“Have I ever told you how dangerous a man you are? I don’t think I’ve ever met a man with a mouth like yours.” Dorian’s shoulders slumped against the pillow as he exhaled, and Sarel chuckled as he released his cock. His hips followed the touch, but the elf was long gone, rising from his bed to strip off what remained of his clothes. 

“My Keeper would be ashamed.” His grin showed off his teeth, and Sarel pulled open his bedside drawer to fish out the vial of oil. Dorian’s hands drifted to his thighs as he crawled over him to kneel over his lap, back turned to his lover. Sarel made a soft noise as he bent double, bracing himself on his elbows, and he poured the oil into his hand. 

“Maker, you’re gorgeous.” Dorian’s kiss met the back of his leg, and his mustache tickled Sarel’s skin as he squeezed at his muscled calves. The elf breathed out a laugh, and he cast a long look over his shoulder at the mage as he shifted his weight to one arm. 

“You think so?” he asked, voice dangerously low in that way it got when he knew he had control. Dorian’s eyes flickered endlessly between his face, his cock dangling hard between their bodies, and the way his hole clenched as Sarel reached behind himself to press a finger in. 

Dorian didn’t answer. His breathing had grown harsh again, and his manicured nails dug into the meat of Sarel’s thighs as he stretched himself open. Impatiently, he pushed a second finger in beside the first after only a minute, but the generous amount of oil he’d used slicked the way as he scissored his fingers. 

He’d always enjoyed the stretch, and Sarel let his head drop as he pistoned his fingers inside himself. His body clenched around the knuckles as he pulled them out, and with every press back inside he moaned, muffling the noise against the bend of his lover’s knee. He didn’t last long before he couldn’t wait for the third, especially with Dorian’s touch drifting closer to his cock with every breath. Sarel pushed three fingers in up to the knuckle with a high moan, and he held them there nestled as deep as he could get them for a few breaths before he drew them out. 

“Maker, _festis bei umo canavarum_.” Dorian gripped at the meat of his ass to watch the way Lavellan’s hole clenched around nothing, pressing his thumbs into the wet heat, and the tips of the digits vanished without resistance into the warmth of his body. 

A spark ignited into a blaze between them, and Dorian manhandled his lover onto his cock. Sarel seated himself with all the patience he could muster, shutting his eyes as he concentrated on the way Dorian stretched him open, filling every space his body offered to him until he could take no more. 

“ _Kaffas_ , my heart. Look at you.” Dorian’s voice was rough, and he nudged his hips up as his fingers dug into Sarel’s waist. He wanted the mage to squeeze so hard it would leave bruises on him for days, so hard he could feel it when he sat at the war table tomorrow morning and thought of his lover taking him over the map. 

Sarel’s breathing was harsh as he raised himself in Dorian’s lap, weight braced against his knees, and he let his head fall forward as he rolled his hips. His thighs were burning already, but he was determined to last when he felt so full of his Dorian like this. 

Skin slapped together as Dorian pulled him down into each thrust of their hips. They were both sweating, spitting curses in their native tongues, and Sarel only lifted himself off his cock to scramble to turn in his lap and face Dorian. Their teeth clanked as they kissed, moans shared between their lips, and Sarel’s erection twitched against his stomach, neglected between them. 

“ _Fasta vass_. You’re incredible, _Amatus_ ,” Dorian groaned, voice wavering as he wrapped a hand around Sarel’s leaking cock. His answering moan was strangled, and his hips paused in their rhythm as the Anchor sparked in his palm. 

Dorian didn’t seem to notice, and the magic died down before either of them could pay it much attention. The human was nearing his climax, his jaw had started to go slack and his brows had knitted together fiercely. Sarel’s legs were on fire, but he was chasing his own release, and his lover pumped his cock as he thrust into him. 

Magic crackled between them, and Lavellan cried out. Green enveloped his arm, power surging around his elbow and licking up his bicep, and Sarel doubled over as pain ripped through his skin. 

“ _Amatus_?” Dorian’s voice had gone panicked, hips still, and he reached out to grip the elf’s arms as his face contorted. Suddenly, he was writing in his lover’s lap in a new kind of torture, and Dorian was helpless to do anything but let it run its course. 

Lavellan was heaving when the Anchor died in his palm. There was sweat clinging to his brow, and he’d gone sickly pale, hand trembling where he held it clenched between his other fingers. They were both soft. Dorian sighed, and he wrapped strong arms around his lover’s shoulders to guide him to slump against his chest. 

“Would you like some water?” Dorian asked after what felt like an eternity, guiding Lavellan’s hair from the tie to let it loose over his back. He combed his fingers through it slowly, working the knots out as the elf’s breathing evened out against his collarbone. 

“No. I’m okay. I just- It burns.” There was heat burning in Sarel’s cheeks, and he removed himself from Dorian’s lap to fetch a washcloth. He wiped himself clean before he passed it to his lover, perching on the edge of the bed with toes balanced on the floor. 

“When did it get so bad?” Dorian whispered, and he watched Sarel swallow as he wrung his hands together. The Anchor lit up in his palm again, and he shoved his hand beneath his thigh to hide the glow. 

He scratched at the back of his neck, eyes glued to his desk at the other side of the room. Dorian’s eyes on his back felt like flames, and he wanted to bolt from the room and spar with Bull until he forgot this had ever happened. 

“It’s not often. Just...flares up sometimes. Solas can’t figure out why.” His arm was still tingling. The scars had started to spread from the magic lately, licking up over his elbow to touch his bicep. Perhaps it was Dorian’s imagination that made them look so deep, so angry, but he knew if they hurt Lavellan wouldn’t breathe a word of it. He’d never wished to be a healer so badly in his life.

The mage sighed, and he pushed himself upright to press a kiss to his lover’s spine. Lavellan was tense before him, a stark change from the fluid sexuality he’d been exuding in his lap minutes before, and Dorian wished for the hundredth time that he could wave his fingers and turn the elf’s life back to normal, turn it back to the simplicity he’d had before the Conclave.

“I should finish those reports.” Lavellan rose, and he eased on his trousers with the care of someone who would be very sore in the morning. Well, at least he’d be distracted by it, even if he hadn’t finished. Dorian could make it up to him later. 

“I’ll stay the night, if you don’t mind. I don’t think it would be appropriate of me to sneak out of the Inquisitor’s quarters so late.” 

The tiniest of smiles pulled at Lavellan’s lips, and he folded himself into his desk chair with bare feet and a naked chest, breeches low on his hips and laces barely done up. Maker, Dorian wasn’t sure how he’d resist him long looking like that, but he could keep his hands to himself until his _Amatus_ had shut out his thoughts long enough to relax a little. 

“I don’t suppose I can argue with that.” Lavellan cast a long look back at the man in his bed, eyes meeting Dorian’s before he turned back to the never ending stack of papers on his desk. That smile remained, and Dorian’s heart squeezed. 

This man would be the death of him. There was no denying that. And Maker, it terrified him that he’d welcome it. 


End file.
